


Close Encounters

by snurgle



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Awkward Sexual Situations, But at the same time not even remotely canon, Character Spoilers, Do Not Archive (The Magnus Archives), First Time, Gets surprisingly emotional towards the end, Kink Negotiation, Listen my boys just deserve a little bit of tenderness that's all I want, M/M, MAG 101 spoilers, Mention of Canon Events, Non-Human Genitalia, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Tim Rolls To Seduce, Tim is a total fucking honeytrap, Weird Sex, Why Did I Write This?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:28:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24836161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snurgle/pseuds/snurgle
Summary: Tim makes the mistake of walking through the wrong door. In a moment of desperation, he gets an idea. A bad idea. Phenomenally bad, and more than likely to get him killed, but he isn’t in any position to be picky.Or, more accurately, Tim is *that* DnD player who rolls to seduce the monster.
Relationships: Michael Shelley/Tim Stoker, Michael | The Distortion/Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives)
Comments: 46
Kudos: 191





	Close Encounters

**Author's Note:**

> So. I do not know why I was compelled to write this.  
> One night in February at around 11:30 PM, I started crack shipping these two and suddenly was unable to stop.  
> The entire premise of this story essentially started as a joke about that Marina and the Diamonds meme (if you know the one, you know the one), except "what if Tim got cornered by Michael and instead of getting scared he did that." So here's a whole story about it. Tim gets stuck in a bad situation, and he does.....that.  
> I'm sorry in advance.
> 
> I don't know how many CONTENT WARNINGS I should slap onto this bad boy (I tried to make the tags as self-explanatory as possible), but I figure I should stick a few in just to be safe. This story DOES include MENTION OF TRAUMATIC CANON INCIDENTS and REFERENCES TO MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, as well as ALCOHOL and one REFERENCE TO DRUG USE. Also there's a little bit of BLOOD involved, given the existence of Fuckhands McMike. And speaking of my special special boy, I probably should point out that this story rides on the popular assumption that Michael barely remembers anything about being human and therefore doesn't really know how sex works. I did everything I could to make all the interactions in this story to be as clear and consensual as possible, but if that detail doesn't sit well with people, that's definitely something to consider. 
> 
> Thanks to my friends cicada_s and three other people who are too dignified to have AO3 accounts for beta reading this absolute fucking fever dream. You really should not encourage me to keep making things like this.

It had been a rough night. Dead ends were never any fun, and Tim was tired of reaching them.

The whole archive staff had been on eggshells for months, and “brooding and cagey” seemed to have become their new normal. The temporary murder mystery being over was only a marginal improvement. The one benefit of Tim’s workplace being in shambles was that his own behavior went pretty much unnoticed. Nobody had asked any questions when he stepped out of the office for a “smoke break” and never came back.

If Elias had a problem with Tim regularly disappearing from the Institute to conduct his own independent investigations, he hadn’t said anything about it. His boss had to know what he was up to, there was no question about that anymore; Elias knew everything, or at least was very good at acting like he did. The shock of it, by then, was completely past Tim.

He was tired, and not just of being trapped in his situation with no escapes in sight. That night, he was staggering home with fresh injuries and the thick, dreadful sense of disappointment that always came with a lead gone sour. The raging downpour that had started at dusk certainly wasn’t making matters any better. Fucking  _ London _ and all its stupid rain.

He might have called a ride service if he didn’t have paranoia creeping over his shoulder at all times. Being at the mercy of other people was something he’d had more than enough of lately, so he’d decided to take the Underground home instead. Then an unexpected delay had made him reconsider that decision while stuck in a station for almost half an hour, drenched and shivering like a half-drowned rat. Regardless, he’d managed to drag himself home, and if he drank enough, maybe he could forget that this day had ever happened. 

The street-level door buzzed as Tim swiped his key fob over the scanner, and the lock clicked open, permitting him inside. He made it as far as the lift, only to find that when he pressed the call button, it didn’t light up. Tim frowned, confused for a second, before he stepped back and saw the piece of paper taped to the stationary sliding doors. 

**_Out of order- please use the stairs._ **

**_-maintenance_ **

A low growl issued from Tim’s throat. Of all the times this could have happened, it _had_ to be now.

It was fine, he assured himself. He’d made the walk plenty of times before. He’d just have to do it again. While soaking wet from the rain. With broken glass stuck in his shoes. And covered in bruises. While he was already exhausted from running away from the cops after nearly getting busted for trespassing. 

_ Screw it _ , he thought. He was going to get back to his flat if it killed him.

The low screech of the heavy stairwell door made it sound like hardly anybody used it. That wasn’t entirely true. Yes, most of the residents ignored the staircase’s existence, but Tim wasn’t opposed to the occasional eight-story jaunt from his flat to the lobby. On particularly good days, he even took the walk up, because he would never get tired of having a simple answer when people asked him what he did to make his ass look so good. He tried to keep that in mind while he dragged himself up all eight flights, each one more torturous than the last. When was the last time anybody had asked him that question, anyway? He was genuinely unsure. It felt like entire lifetimes had passed him by since the last time he’d had a night out. God, he’d been  _ really  _ deprived lately.

Tim was practically asleep on his feet by the time he finally reached the eighth floor landing. Slumped over and staring at his shoes, he fumbled for the handle of the door out of the stairwell. It gave a long, pitchy _creeeeeak_ as its hinges squealed open; Tim passed through blindly and let it fall shut behind him. There was something... _off_ about the sound it made, though it only hit him in retrospect. The hinges’ squeak was too pronounced, too high pitched, something like that, but he hadn’t been paying enough attention to know exactly what was wrong.

Only then did Tim finally raise his head and get a good look at his surroundings. All at once, he realized that this place was definitely  _ not _ where he was supposed to be. The walls were papered with a pattern he didn’t recognize, the colors all too bright. There were doors, but not nearly as many as there should have been, and none of them matched the uniform grey of the flats in his building. They seemed to shift positions slightly every time he blinked. Tim had never paid much attention to the pattern of the hallway carpet, but now that he was thinking about it, he realized  _ that _ was different too. 

It took too long for the reality of his situation to sink in. He stepped back from the wall and looked behind him, into the space where he’d emerged from the stairwell. Whatever door he’d come through had vanished.

_ Fuck _ .

He hadn’t been paying attention. Why,  _ why _ in god’s name hadn’t he been paying attention? He was tired. He’d been staring at the floor. The door had opened without any complaint. But that noise it made, that  _ noise _ . He’d  _ felt _ something was wrong with it, but he’d been too busy looking down. A weak, beleaguered breath wheezed out of his lungs, and he slumped back against the wall and raked his hands into his hair. 

This was stupid. How could he have been so  _ fucking stupid _ ? He was tired, but what kind of excuse was that? He knew better than this. He should have looked first. God, how much more effort would it have taken him just to  _ look up _ ? It was no matter now; he was stuck here, and with every second he spent in this ever-changing hell hallway, his chances of leaving it got increasingly smaller.

He ducked his face behind his knees and spent a minute frozen stiff, hunched over and hyperventilating. May as well get all the mindless panic out of the way now, since it wasn’t going to help him find his way out. After the terror subsided a little, Tim could catch his breath and think. He’d been trapped here once before. If he’d escaped back then, he could do it a second time. Probably. Maybe. 

The door he’d come through was long gone, though, and going by what little knowledge he had about The Spiral, he wasn’t going to find it again anytime soon. The very worst thing he could do was start running around in search of an exit; that was always people’s first instinct when the Distortion trapped them in its corridors, and it only ever made the madness set in faster. Avoiding that, he couldn’t very well stay where he was. He knew there was at least  _ one _ monster wandering these halls; he’d met him once before, and that was an experience he never wanted to have again if he could help it. 

_ Alright _ , he admonished himself.  _ Don’t be still, but don’t sprint either. We’ll take this slowly. _

One more deep breath, then Tim stood up, one hand braced against the wall, which buzzed against his hand like static on a jumper. _Everything_ about this place felt strange. He took a second to ground himself; even though the walls swayed in his vision, the floor was solid under his feet and there was nothing blocking his way forward. With that meager assurance in mind, he started to walk.  


He wondered about trying some of the other doors that decorated the hallway, but every time he came close to it, he got suddenly hesitant; should he open any of them, he had no idea where he might end up, and as bad as the endless hallway was, he struggled to get around the fear that things could get much,  _ much _ worse if he made the wrong move. The doors were wildly inconsistent as it was; sometimes he’d turn a corner and find several along one wall, and in other instances he’d make turn after turn and see nothing but smooth papered walls ahead of him. If he ever  _ did _ decide to open one, he couldn’t be sure that there was anything to open. He wouldn’t put it past the Distortion to have its walls decorated with false doors, or worse, ones that opened onto yet more hallways.

With every pointless turn he took, Tim’s confidence waned. Searching for a way out had been a mistake. Walking wasn’t helping, because he clearly wasn’t getting anywhere, and the longer he wandered, the less he could keep track of time. Knowing the Spiral, there was no way to  _ actually  _ know how long he’d been trapped. He felt like he’d been roaming around for hours already, no less exhausted than he’d been before, and his bruises didn’t feel like they were healing. It might have been his rapidly degrading senses talking, but Tim felt like the night’s minor injuries were somehow getting worse. 

It was  _ something _ that snapped Tim out of that small, quiet moment of focus. He couldn’t be sure what, exactly. It came to him as a slight vibration that whined through the air, down the hallway and shivered its way to his bones. His nerves set themselves on edge, and he felt a tightening of muscle in his jaw. Whatever the sensation was, it had only one thing to tell him.  _ You have to move. _

Tim didn’t question it. He felt the presence of something encroaching on him, and whatever it was, chances were it wasn’t there to make friends. He’d promised himself when he came in that he wasn’t going to run, but he didn’t seem to have much of a choice anymore. He would much rather be exhausted and insane than dead, so he ground his heel into the carpet and started running.

The Distortion didn’t let him get very far.

The first thing to reach him was that laugh. Tim remembered the awful sound of it, the disjointed, stuttering overlap of voices, too distinctively maddening to be missed. Nervous energy jolted his legs and sent his heart racing, forcing him to run faster, but the laughter persisted, always hovering right behind him, much too close. It raked his ears and crawled under his skin. He didn’t dare look back to see where it came from.

Then Tim turned a corner, and someone was there. He only saw them for a second, making out little more than a smudge of color in the corner of his eye, but even that was more than he’d needed to see. He skidded to a stop and turned to run in a new direction. The hallway twisted around a corner, and he was exactly where he’d been a second before. And that person– that  _ thing _ was standing at the far end. 

Fear rose in his throat. He’d seen this creature before, and it had  _ definitely _ seen him. Tim could barely make out eyes in the disorganized, eye-straining imitation of a face, but he felt them, the recognition like ice against his skin.  _ This thing has a name, doesn’t it? _

Tim backed away, still hoping for an escape, only to feel his back colliding with a solid wall that wasn’t supposed to be there. The monster before him blurred and flickered, leaving Tim’s eyes unable to focus, but even in the chaos he could still see the thing that wasn’t exactly a face splitting into a smug, predatory grin. He couldn’t tear his eyes away. The monster loomed over him even from a distance, illogically tall, his cloud of blonde hair nearly brushing the ceiling. Long, spidery fingers spanned the entire width of the hallway, ending in knifelike points. 

“Fancy finding you here, Assistant,” he said.   


Tim’s mouth was dry, and his jaw clicked as he pried it open. “Michael.”

The entity’s smile widened. “So you  _ do _ remember me,” he remarked in that cloying voice of his. “Of all people who could have wandered in.” He shook his head, tutting playfully. “I’m rather disappointed in you. I would have thought you’d know better.” 

Tim choked on his own heart as it welled up in his chest. Was the hallway getting shorter, or was Michael just that fast? There was no way to tell. He couldn’t take his eyes away from those fingers. God, those  _ fingers _ . They dragged along the wall as Michael approached. The wallpaper parted around them like liquid, leaving deep plaster valleys in their wake. Tim didn’t want to know what those things could do to human skin, but he had a sinking feeling that he was about to find out.

“But I would call this a stroke of luck. I mean, you’re not the  _ Archivist _ , but... oh, what an  _ example _ I could make of you.” 

Michael laughed again, and Tim cringed.  _ Think,  _ he instructed himself, but even as the word materialized, everything in his brain was being quickly clouded over with fear. This was not the time for a breakdown. He needed a strategy  _ now _ . Those hands were closing in on him. 

_ Dammit, Tim, just think of something! _

Then an idea came to him. A bad idea.  _ Phenomenally _ bad, and more than likely to get him killed, but he wasn’t in any position to be picky. 

Sharp fingers sliced easily through the plaster behind him, pinning him in place. He relaxed his face out of its wide-eyed, frightened expression, and the rest of his body followed. Tim leaned back, draping himself loosely against the wall, trying to look as much as possible like he was exactly where he wanted to be. He looked directly into Michael’s eyes and curved his lips into a coy smile.

Right away, the monster paused. He cocked his head curiously, then leaned down toward Tim’s face. “What are you smiling about?” he asked. 

“Nothing especially,” Tim replied, in as calm a tone as he could manage. “I just...” He let a low chortle bubble up from his chest. “You’re being extraordinarily forward.”

“I see no point in dancing around it,” Michael replied. “I know why I’m here, and what I intend to do.”

The edge of his index finger inched closer to Tim, cutting through the wet fabric of his jacket and threatening to bite into his shoulder. He swallowed the urge to scream. He needed to pour on the charm while he still had the means to do it. “Do you now?”

Michael’s expression broke, his sick, gleeful smile melting into an angry glare. “I just told you. Are you dense?” Two fingers sank into Tim’s shoulder, drawing blood.

_ Alright, bad move.  _

“Oh, yes. Clearly. Of course,” Tim rambled nervously. “A shame, really. But a blessing that your lovely face will be the last thing I ever see.”

He watched Michael’s expression flicker, what passed for his eyes widening just a touch. “What?”

_ There we go.  _

“Nothing. Just a fleeting thought in my final moments.” Against every survival instinct he had, he tipped his head towards the finger that threatened to slice him, letting himself rest gently against it. “If I’m going to die, I may as well do it while looking at something beautiful.” He turned his head away, casting his eyes to the side as if he had suddenly started feeling shy. “I suppose I should be thanking you, really.”   


One of Michael’s hands wrenched itself free of the wall, and two sharp fingers found their way to Tim’s cheek, nudging him to line his eyes up with Michael’s once more. His face solidified, and for the first time, The Distortion held together in an almost-intelligible way. His expression had cooled, curiosity melting into his unclear features. If Tim wasn’t mistaken, he could have sworn that Michael had flickered with a brief, pinkish glow before he composed himself again. He suspected he’d just gotten the monster to drop a guard of some kind. 

“What exactly are you playing at, Assistant?” Michael hissed.

“Nothing that will matter, if I’ll be dead soon anyway,” Tim wistfully sighed. He let his eyelids slip a little lower, looking up at Michael through a fringe of dark lashes. “I don’t suppose I’ll be able to change your mind?”

The knife-edge of Michael’s fingers left his face and one leveled itself with his throat. “Not likely,” he quipped. 

Panic began to crystallize in Tim’s veins again. Charm alone wasn’t working. He needed another way to negotiate. “I- I know I can’t really stop you, but...” he stammered, trying to think quickly. “I can’t help thinking... something tells me this isn’t really what you want.”

Michael’s finger pressed against his throat, nipping into his skin. “You couldn’t  _ begin _ to know what I want, Assistant.”

“You mentioned the Archivist,” Tim quickly spat. “He’s the one you  _ really _ want to kill, isn’t he?”

Michael paused, and a trickle of blood crept from the shallow wound on Tim’s neck. “Perhaps. But you’re close enough. Fear tastes all the same anyway.”

“But I’m not  _ him _ ,” Tim pointed out, feeling Michael’s hand tremble against his throat. “If you kill me, what are you going to get out of it?”

“A little relief, maybe.”

“But for how long?” He leveled his gaze with the monster’s, waiting for a response, but none came. Only silence answered him, and with every empty second that passed, the wicked smile on Michael’s face began to look more forced. “Look, I’ll make it simple. If you kill me, there’s no way Jon  _ isn’t _ going to find out. You won’t do anything but scare him off.”

Michael’s expression faltered. It was only the quickest slip, but Tim still caught it. His words were getting somewhere.

“Think about it. Even Elias couldn’t find Jon when he was hiding from him, and you  _ know _ what he’s like.” Truthfully, Elias probably  _ had  _ known where Jon was hiding in the midst of the whole murder investigation and had simply lied about it to the whole staff, but if Michael suspected Tim was bluffing, he didn’t show it. “If even Elias couldn’t get to him when he didn’t want to be found, then what kind of hope would that leave you?” 

The pressure at his throat lightened, and Tim knew Michael was reconsidering. Slowly, he raised a hand to slip it between the finger and his neck, nudging them away. Apparently that was too straightforward of him, because right away Michael’s hand moved. Suddenly Tim’s chin was balanced precariously on the points of his fingers, forcing his face to tilt upward and meet Michael’s eyes. Tim couldn’t help finding something sexy about the position he was in. It was almost _too_ fitting. He could only imagine what he looked like from Michael’s perspective; gazing unwaveringly into his eyes, vulnerable and challenging at the same time. Oh, _this_ was giving him all sorts of ideas. His lips eased into another teasing smile. There it was again; behind the unstable mask, he spied another faint pulse of pink.

_ What is that? Am I... making him blush?  _ Tim wanted to laugh. The start had been rocky, but now Michael was playing right into his hands. 

“We both know there’s no way killing me can end well for you,” he continued. “Best case scenario you get nothing, and at worst, you’re that much further from getting your hands on the Archivist. I’ve got a better idea in mind. A little something in it for both of us.”

Michael idly traced the fine points of his fingers along Tim’s jaw. “And what is that?”

“You let me go,” Tim purred, “and we can keep this little altercation between us.”

Michael hummed thoughtfully, and his face unfocused again, his expression becoming unreadable. “You’ll need to do a little better than  _ that _ , Assistant.” 

“Well,” Tim mused, “it isn’t like I can hand-deliver the Archivist to you. I know that’s what you’re after more than anything, but Elias has me under contract, and god only knows what he’d do to me if I started endangering the rest of the staff. But...” He let his eyes flick down to where he remembered seeing the delicate peach-pink bow of Michael’s lips, lingering there just long enough that he knew the monster would notice. “Maybe we could arrange something else?”

The pink glow returned, burning just a little longer, and Michael let slip a soft, jittery laugh. The color flickered out, but Tim could still sense it burning just below the surface, and he found himself _really_ starting to enjoy the sight of it. “I think I see what you’re getting at now,” Michael sang, his voice teasing. “I’ve heard stories about you, Assistant.”

“Have you now?”

“Oh, yes. You consider this a part of your job, don’t you? Flirting to bend people to your will and flattering their secrets right out of them?”

“Come on, Michael. Don’t be like this,” Tim chided. “I’m not trying to bend anything. Unless you ask me to.” He punctuated with a wink.

Michael flashed pink again before quickly trapping Tim’s face between his thumb and index finger, a threat to cover up how clearly flustered he was. “I’m not your  _ pawn _ , Assistant.”

“And I never asked you to be. I promise you, I’m not doing this to pry information out of you. Just... consider it my way of thanking you for showing a little mercy.” 

“Thanking me  _ how _ ?” 

Alright, this was starting to get ridiculous. Michael _had_ to be playing dumb on purpose. That was fine. Tim knew how to be blunt. “I’m offering to fuck you, Michael.”

All at once, the sharpness of Michael’s touch disappeared from Tim’s face and the monster had taken a step back. He snapped suddenly into focus, and when Tim could clearly see his face again, he actually looked surprised. He stared at Tim for a long, uncomfortable moment, and when he finally spoke again, all he said was, “Why?”

“Well... I  _ have _ been feeling pretty lonely these last few months,” Tim admitted. “What with everything going on at work. I’m the sort of person who needs a little something every now and again. And you...” He sighed and raised his hand again, gently tracing the jagged lines of Michael’s fingers with his own. “You tell me. When was the last time anyone touched you?”

Michael’s entire shape shivered lightly at the brush of his hand, giving another faint bloom of pink. “I...” he mumbled. “I don’t know.”

“I think this might be good for both of us, then.” He boldly pulled Michael’s hand closer and kissed his strange, bony knuckles. His skin felt like a buzz of static against Tim’s lips. It was weird, but he didn’t exactly  _ hate _ the feeling of it. “Take us back to my flat, and we can get started right away.”

Michael stood motionless at first, like he was still questioning whether or not he would take Tim’s offer, but the flush of rose simmering under his pale face loudly announced that he’d already made up his mind. He slipped a hand behind Tim’s back, and a feeling like four swords against his spine ushered him away from the wall. “This way,” he said softly. 

Tim wasn’t in any place to question him. He let Michael nudge him along as they traveled down the shifting halls. It wasn’t the harrowing expedition he’d taken on the way in, and he suspected that the monster at his side had something to do with that. The corridors weren’t nearly as torturous when he had someone guiding him. Before long, they’d arrived at a familiar muted grey door, one that Tim had never been happier to see. Michael took the liberty of opening it, and it let out a long, pitchy  _ creeeeeeeak _ as he pushed it aside. 

Tim practically fell into his flat. He didn’t look back when he heard the door shutting behind him, too busy flicking on the lights, tearing off his torn, soaked-through jacket and kicking his sodden trainers into a corner. The world outside the windows was still a backdrop of velvety darkness, dotted with swimming lights. The air had the distinct damp taste of bad weather, and distantly, Tim could hear the faint rumble of thunder. The steady beat of a downpour unleashed itself against his windows. So he hadn’t been gone long after all. It hadn’t even stopped raining yet.

He wasn’t sure what he’d thought would come next. He waited to feel Michael’s long, treacherous hands wrapping around him from behind, wondering if the Distortion would pounce on him and get into it right then and there on the living room floor. He certainly didn’t think that  _ nothing _ was an option, and yet, that was everything that happened. 

Tim turned around and found Michael standing dead still with his back against the yellow door, eyes fixed forward. “Okay,” he said. “What happens now?”   


Tim huffed a short laugh, offering up another wry smile. “Why don’t you tell me?”

Michael frowned. “I don’t think I will.”

_ Okay, bad choice of words _ . “No, no, that’s not... I told you I’m not doing this for information. I’m only asking what you want me to do to you.”

“You invited me here for sex, did you not?”

Tim waited for him to elaborate, but Michael stayed quiet. “So....” he mused, trying to fill the awkward silence, “are you waiting for me to make the first move, or...” 

“Are you supposed to?”

“I  _ can _ .”

“Then do.”

Tim opened his mouth, drawing a breath to protest, but he gave up and shut it, unsure how to put his thoughts into words. He took a step toward Michael, and the monster shivered. His strange eyes were wide, his body stiff. Tim stopped right where he stood. “I’m sorry, this is weird.”

Michael’s expression fell, his edges growing sharp again. “I thought you  _ wanted _ to do this.” 

“I do,” Tim quickly assured him. “I do, I’m not taking that back. I just... this doesn’t feel right. You’re all tense.”

“Oh.” Before his eyes, Michael’s body softened and melted, sinking to the floor in a boneless pile of colors. “Is this better?” 

“No.” He crouched down and looked at where he assumed Michael’s eyes might be. “It would be a little easier if you gave me a physical body to work with.”

Energy crackled the air, setting Tim’s hair on end, and Michael solidified again with a soft  _ pop _ , lying on his back and looking sheepishly up at Tim. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Tim brushed Michael’s cheek with his hand, causing him to light up in pink again. “Come on, have a seat on the couch. Before we do anything, you need to relax.”

Michael huffed, clearly disappointed, but he let Tim pull him to his feet and nudge him toward the couch anyway. He fell gracelessly onto the cushions, sprawling out in a loose arrangement of long, creepy limbs. Tim felt Michael’s eyes following him as he staggered into the kitchen. The cuts in his shoulder weren’t too deep, and the thin red line left on his neck was no worse than a papercut. He could probably get by without any bandages, and he still needed that drink he’d promised himself before he got stuck. The open bottle of plum wine in his fridge was calling to him. He brought it out, poured himself a glass, and considered the weird guest on his couch for a second. Did Michael like wine? Or consuming materials at all, for that matter? Tim shrugged and poured out a second glass. If Michael didn’t want it, well, at least he’d offered. 

Tim perched himself on the arm of the couch, as Michael had managed to take up the entire length of the cushions. He extended the second glass toward him. “Care for a drink? I know I need one.”

Michael squirmed upright and accepted it, awkwardly balancing the fragile thing in his spindly fingers. Tim threw back half his glass in a single quick gulp. Michael lifted his own to his lips and took a careful sip, his nose wrinkling a little at the taste. He hummed curiously, considering it, then took another. 

“Right,” Tim sighed. “We need to talk.”

“That wasn’t part of the deal.”

“Deal’s changed.” He took another drought of wine. “I thought you had some idea of what you wanted from me back in the hallways, but you clearly don’t.”

“I told you–”

“I know you did. Saying something and doing it are two different things.” He leaned against the back of the couch, trying to pin Michael in place with his eyes. “You don’t really know how any of this works, do you?”

Michael stared back at him for a solid second, then turned away, his face smearing into an obscured blur behind his hair.  _ Maybe that was too personal a question _ , Tim thought. He could have guessed that Michael wouldn’t be open to giving up details of any kind, which was fine. Tim had been in that boat before. This, though, was rather important, given their situation. Even though Michael didn’t say a word, his reaction to Tim’s question had told Tim all he needed to know.

“Hey. It’s okay if you don’t.”

A single eye peeked through the curtain of loose blonde curls. “It’s not that I know _nothing_. I think... I remember knowing something. Once,” he quietly admitted. “But I haven’t chased it at all. Not since...” He trailed off, burning magenta. “It was impulsive of me to follow you here. I didn’t want to ask, but I was... I’d thought I could figure it out on my own. Using you.”  


“If that was what you wanted, you could have just told me,” Tim said. Michael’s retreating form had left him a sliver of space on the couch, so he slid down to sit beside him. “I’m not going to just start doing things to you when you have no idea what to expect. Sex doesn’t work like that.”

“Then how  _ does  _ it work?”

“Well...” He swirled the last of the wine in his glass. “Let’s start with this. What was it that made you want to follow me home?”

Michael was quiet for a moment, maybe thinking of an answer, maybe considering whether he wanted to give one at all. Finally he sighed and showed his face to Tim again. “You called me beautiful,” he said. “You looked at me. And it felt... good.”

“Good how?” Tim pressed. 

“Like... something warm, and exciting, and...” He shook his head, his face blurring again. “You know I’m not any good at this.”

“You don’t have to be. If words don’t work, try to show me.”

Michael hesitated a second before bringing the points of his fingers to Tim’s stomach, needling him right below the ribs. “It started here,” he said, before dragging his fingers up towards Tim’s chest. “Then moved up through here, and all across here.” Goosebumps rose on Tim’s skin at the delicate touch. “And I... I felt it before. I know I did, a long time ago, but the how and why is all tangled up in other things.” His hand settled on Tim’s thigh and stayed there. “Maybe  _ all _ of me doesn’t remember, but I think some part of me does.”

“And you’re sure you want me to open all of that back up?” Tim asked.

“I never thought about it before. But you... you made me want to,” Michael replied. “No one’s ever reacted to me like you before.”

Tim chuckled at that. He couldn’t have pictured the night going in this direction, and in all honesty had completely expected Michael to have skewered him already by now. Instead, here the Distortion was, perched on his couch, drinking wine with him and acting... shy? Demure? He didn’t even know what to call it, when it was coming from a thing like Michael. 

“Why are you laughing, Assistant?”

Tim took a second to catch his breath, holding his mouth shut with the back of his hand and clearing his throat. “No reason, really. I just... I never thought I’d see you like this.” He tipped his head back and drained his glass, then reached for the bottle on the coffee table to refill it. “Having you here. It’s just odd, you know? I’ve never been able to picture it.”

“Neither have I.”

“I guess you’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?”   


Michael’s image clarified a little further, and Tim could finally see his face in its entirety again, studying him with eyes like liquid kaleidoscopes. “Assistant,” he said curiously, “all those things you said to me... did you really mean them?”

The conclusion was pitifully easy to draw. Michael must have suspected by now that Tim was stalling. He definitely was, for a number of reasons, and as he kept talking to Michael even more seemed to appear. It would have been an easy thing to lie about; he could just say yes and move on. Michael didn’t seem the type to bother scrutinizing him for the truth. But sitting there, seeing him still and composed for the first time  _ ever _ , got Tim thinking. 

All things considered, when Michael wasn’t trying to kill him, he actually wasn’t all that bad to look at. Yes, his limbs were disproportionately long, his eyes made Tim’s ache if he looked into them too long, and his terrifying knife-hands were a whole issue all on their own. But aside from all that, something about him was almost... enchanting? Tim couldn’t be sure, but there was definitely something there, if he looked hard enough. 

Michael’s face had probably been cute once. Tim took a second to focus on that; the sharp, upturned nose, delicate bow-shaped lips, and maybe the biggest, most expressive eyes that he had ever seen on a person. He could finally take stock of his outfit, too: checkered shoes that looked like Vans, a pair of acid-washed jeans with holes eaten through the knees, and a jumper with a strangely cut neckline and a dizzying pattern peeled right off of a bowling alley carpet. His slight frame disappeared into his clothes, hinting at a body that was a total mystery, one that had Tim suddenly intrigued and itching to unravel it.

If Michael had been human, Tim could easily imagine sliding up next to him in a bar and offering to buy him a drink. If Michael wasn’t what he was... actually, screw that. If they’d just met under better circumstances, well, who cared if he was a monster as long as he was pretty?

And Michael was, Tim realized. When he wanted to be, he was  _ very _ pretty.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “I meant every word.”

Tim watched the pink glow bloom inside Michael again. The monster leaned against the back of the couch and smiled (too widely, but Tim found himself unbothered by that). A small giggle rose at the back of his throat, echoing inside Tim’s skull. “Tell me more,” he said. “What does it feel like, to look at me?”

“It’s a little painful,” Tim said. “But it’s not a bad sort of pain. It’s kind of like eating pop rocks. You’ve got a bite to you, and when you’re not trying to kill me, it’s... sort of thrilling.” He paused to take another sip of wine, and he felt warmth start to spread under his skin. “Nothing about you quite makes sense, but that just makes me want to stare longer.” 

Michael hummed, burning brighter with interest. “Tell me what you'd do to me,” he said. “What would have happened if you hadn’t stopped.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to start doing  _ anything  _ unless you asked me,” Tim clarified. 

“I’m asking now,” Michael quipped, leaning in closer. “You want me to know what to expect. Explain it to me. I want to know how it works.”

Tim laughed, the sound soft and low in his chest. “Okay. Obviously, I would touch you at first,” he began. “I’d be gentle, moving slow, figuring out what you like. And I would kiss you. That is, putting my mouth on yours, feeling my way along, figuring out where and how you like to be touched. Maybe get my tongue involved, have a little taste of you if you’ll let me.” In front of him, Michael slumped into the couch, seeming to melt at the sound of his words. Tim grinned and kept going. “And if you liked that, I would go ahead and put my hands under your clothes. Get a feel for your body, your skin. Test you a little more, maybe tease you. The outfit will have to come off eventually, of course. I’d take my sweet time peeling everything off of you, make sure you felt every second of it. And after that... that depends. Are you a top, or a bottom?”

Michael’s face crumpled a little. “I don’t know what that means.”

“Oh. Um...” Tim felt a flush crawling up his neck. He hadn’t needed to explain this to someone in years. “It’s like... If you want to have part of me stuck into you, or you want to be the one doing the sticking.” 

_ Well, that sounds profoundly unpleasant. Great job, Tim. _

A laugh burst from Michael’s lips. “And that’s supposed to feel good?”   


“I think it does!” Tim had never felt so embarrassed about it before. “I mean... I’ve got no preference. I’ve been on both ends before, but it’s not like my experience can vouch for yours, whatever it was before you were, well,  _ you _ . I think  _ anything _ we end up doing is going to feel strange if you don’t remember what you like.”

“Do you think I could figure it out while we’re doing all the other stuff?”

“You might.” Tim idly swirled the wine in his glass, keeping a keen eye on Michael’s face. The pink glow hadn’t died out yet. “Do you mind if I put on some music?”

Michael nodded, and he fell back a little, giving Tim space to get up while he idly sipped from his wine glass. He’d barely made a dent in it, and Tim found himself wondering if Michael even had any insides to hold the wine he was drinking. If he didn’t, that would certainly make this exchange a lot more difficult. 

He got up to turn on the bluetooth speaker that perched on his TV stand and felt Michael’s eyes lingering on him while he scrolled through his phone, trying to sort out what would be the right kind of music to play in a situation like this. This obviously wasn’t going to be an ordinary hookup, but did that impact how he was supposed to set the mood? Eventually, he found he’d gone completely through his second glass of wine, and he gave up searching and put on one of his usual playlists. Some slow indie pop song began to spill from the speaker, and he left his empty wine glass next to it.

He returned to the couch, letting himself down a little closer to Michael than he’d been sitting before. “Now,” he sighed. “Where were we?”

“You’re asking  _ me _ to remember?”

“No. It’s more of a figure of speech, just... you know what, forget it. Let’s move on.”

“Okay,” Michael agreed. “Are you going to start now?”

“We can, if you’d like.” Tim took a second to study the plastic stillness of Michael’s face. He heard knifelike fingers scratching restlessly at the side of the couch. “Are you nervous?”

“I don’t know what nervous feels like.”

“Your hand is shaking.”

Michael looked down and gave a small, curious noise at the neat gashes he’d left in the upholstery. “Oh. So it is.”

“It’s okay. I am too,” Tim confessed. “This is a sort of first for both of us.”

“I suppose you’re right, Assistant.”

Tim’s face scrunched slightly in distaste. “I have a name, you know.”

“You  _ are _ an assistant to the Archivist, are you not?” Michael asked. 

“I am, but I have a name. And if it won’t kill you, I’d rather you use it. I don’t think I can get through this if you’re going to be calling me ‘Assistant’ the whole time.”

“Then what do I call you?”

“Tim. My name is Tim.”

“Alright,” Michael warmly replied. “I can do that. Tim.”

A soft smile curved Tim’s lips. “I like how it sounds when you say it.”   


He watched Michael light up with a fresh burst of pink. “Tim,” he said again, slowly, like he was rolling the name around on his tongue, getting a sense of how it tasted. The motion drew another jittery, disjointed laugh out of Michael, and Tim took the opportunity to lean a little closer. His hand found its way to Michael’s knee, pressing his palm gently against the monster’s leg where it rested between them. The bony shape of him underneath his jeans held solid for a second before it shifted strangely against the weight of Tim’s hand. In an instant, Michael’s giggling stopped, and he’d gone dead still, staring at Tim’s face, his migraine-inducing eyes blown wide.

“I could kiss you now,” Tim murmured. “If you’d like me to.”

Michael’s lips trembled, and his throat twitched with a convulsive swallow. “Yes,” he whispered, suddenly quieter than Tim would have thought him capable of being. Then, even more shockingly, “Please.”

Wordlessly, Tim nodded and leaned in, pressing his mouth softly against Michael’s.

The feeling of it was... strange, if only because there was no other way to describe it concisely. Right away Tim registered the feeling of static humming against his lips, vibrating at an impossible frequency everywhere Michael’s skin made contact with his own. Michael’s mouth felt strangely sharp at the same time as it was soft and yielding, somewhere between a thin wire frame and actual human skin. The sensation made Tim’s nerves buzz, like there was an electric current running underneath the skin of his face. The feeling remained when he paused to breathe and suddenly realized that Michael had remained stiff and motionless through the entire kiss. Tim pulled back from him and frowned.

Michael’s wide eyes regarded him with confusion. “Why did you stop?” he asked.

“It didn’t feel right,” Tim replied. “You’re like a deer in the headlights right now, Michael.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“Yeah, a bit. What was wrong? Did you not like how it felt?”

“No. I liked it,” Michael answered quickly, not a shred of doubt in the reply. 

“Well, if something feels good, you need to let me know that,” Tim informed him. “This is supposed to be fun. I won’t do anything to you if I can’t be sure you actually want it. If you like what I’m doing and want me to keep going, I’m gonna need you to respond to me somehow.”

“How am I supposed to do that?”

“Um... maybe just... imitate me? Pay attention to what I’m doing, and if you like it, do it back to me. That’s how this usually works.” 

Michael nodded, then carefully leaned in and invited Tim to kiss him again. It felt easier the second time, Tim knowing to expect the pins and needles that teased him under his skin. Michael was surprisingly gentle. He was probably just reflecting Tim’s own tentativeness back at him, but it was still a slight shock to feel the light, curious way Michael’s lips moved against his own. Slowly, Tim’s hand crept forward from where it rested on Michael’s leg, sliding up to his hip and settling on his waist, pulling him ever so slightly closer. He was hard to hold onto, his body feeling like it was in a constant state of change, but if Tim moved his fingers right he could just about manage. The fingertips of his free hand found their way to the curve of Michael’s jaw, easing around the inconsistencies of his form to gently cradle his face and bring him a little deeper into the kiss.

Against his lips, Tim felt a small, contented sigh slip loose. He smiled at the sensation, and a little glow of pride lit up in his chest. Michael was  _ actually _ enjoying this. Tim experimentally slipped his tongue into the equation, coyly tracing the tip of it along the edge of Michael’s lower lip. Michael’s mouth opened easily, drawing Tim’s tongue inside. Tim caught an odd taste, something sour and acidic that he didn’t recognize. It stung and lingered at the back of his mouth, but before he had much time to think about it, something changed. A low growl rose from somewhere inside Michael, and suddenly he was surging forward, pressing himself against Tim with a new and hungry ferocity, as if some long-dormant thing in his body had just woken up.

Tim gasped as Michael’s tongue slithered deeper into his mouth. He hardly had any idea what to make of it; its shape was slippery, but at the same time long and sharp, its tip scraping teasingly along his flesh as it explored his mouth. The knife-points of Michael’s fingers grazed over his back as he felt the monster’s long arms wrap around his shoulders and drag him closer. The current that had been running through his face began to itch its way up and down his back as the knifelike tips of Michael’s fingers pierced through the fabric of his shirt and pricked at his skin. And, weirdly enough, Tim felt the heat of arousal starting to tighten in his stomach.

_ Wait, am I seriously into this? _

Michael’s impossible tongue smeared the thought away before Tim could examine it. His mind was going fuzzy, and it was all he could do not to totally lose track of himself. Michael was a clumsy kisser. His tongue didn’t seem able to hold a single shape for more than a few seconds, but that didn’t seem to be impeding its thorough examination of Tim’s mouth. It molded itself to Tim’s tongue over and over again, stroking and twisting around it in ways that Tim had never thought possible. His fingers tightened into Michael’s jumper, and he let out a soft, breathless moan.

_Fuck_ , he thought. _I’m_ definitely _into this._

He barely registered the feeling of a long, slender leg sliding over one of his own. Tim’s arms bent closer to his body, and he quickly realized Michael was trying to climb into his lap. He adjusted himself accordingly, his hands guiding Michael’s hips so that he landed with his legs straddling Tim’s. The position didn’t quite make sense; Michael was so much taller than him, and he probably had to bend at a wildly uncomfortable angle in order to keep his mouth in contact with Tim’s. Still, this was what Michael wanted, and Tim was getting more turned on by the second, so who was he to tell him to stop?

Tim’s breath hitched at the feeling of slim, bony hips pressing against his own. The movements of Michael’s lips grew faster, more insistent, and Tim felt the bite of his fingertips on his arms. Michael’s body pulsed with the heavy rise and fall of breaths Tim was half sure he didn’t actually need to take. He felt a tug on his lower lip as Michael pulled it between his teeth and bit down. Tim yelped, the taste of copper flooding his mouth, and his hips gave a sudden jolt upward into Michael, who let out a strained, curious noise in response. He quickly resettled himself, pressing down even harder than before and grinding against Tim’s hips like his life depended on it. His tongue pushed deeper, into dimensions Tim didn’t know his mouth even  _ had _ , and Tim saw a burst of neon behind his eyelids before he felt the slithering thing inside him draw back. 

He opened his eyes and everything in his flat had gone grainy and colorful. Michael pulled away from him, dragging along a thread of saliva on the tip of his tongue. He swiped the tip of one finger across his lip and fixed his eyes on Tim. The pink glow was burning steadily in his chest now, crawling up his throat and lighting his face from the inside. 

All Tim could manage to say was, “Holy shit.”   


“How did I do?” Michael asked. 

“That was... y-you were...” It took him a moment to string the sentence together. Words didn’t seem to fit correctly in his mouth. “What  _ was _ that?”

Michael’s face crumpled. “Did I do it wrong?”

“N-no, not at all. That was... that was fucking  _ phenomenal _ .” His breath hitched as he shifted his hips against the couch. There was a familiar pressure built up between his legs, straining at the fly of his jeans. 

Apparently Michael felt it too. He glanced down and acknowledged Tim’s emergent hard-on with a quiet “Hm. That’s new.”

“Yeah, it’s, ah... what happens to people built like me, when we’re in situations like this.”

Michael laughed. “I knew  _ that _ ,” he said. “I’ve seen it happen to people before, but I didn’t know it could be like  _ this _ .” He pressed himself against Tim again, squeezing his cock between them. “It feels  _ nice _ .”

Tim’s jaw dropped and he gasped at the pressure. “Ah... th-that it does,” he stammered out. Michael drew back, letting up with a smug smile on his face. Apparently he liked to watch Tim squirm. Hardly surprising. Tim’s fingers idled on the staticky fabric of Michael’s jumper while he caught his breath. “So... do you want to move this to the bedroom?”

“Will it mean we get to do more of this?” Michael asked, a craving glimmer in his eyes.

“This, and so much more, if you’re game for it.”

The monster in his lap grinned. “Yes, then. I’d love to.”

“If that’s the case, I’m going to need you to let me get up.”

“But I like how this feels.” Michael ground his hips harder against Tim’s in protest, making the man underneath him wince and his cock twitch uncomfortably against his fly.

“Do you really want to risk me trying to carry you there myself?”

The second he’d spoken, Tim knew he’d made a mistake. Michael didn’t spare another second wrapping himself around Tim like a scarf. Tim sighed, fixing his arms around Michael to hold his weird, shifting body tight to his own. Standing up brought on a sudden wave of vertigo, probably a side effect of kissing the physical embodiment of a fever dream. Tim quickly grabbed the arm of the couch to steady himself before he toppled over, and for some reason he couldn’t begin to understand, Michael wasn’t throwing off his balance at all. In fact, he weighed almost nothing. Tim felt like he was holding an armful of plasma rather than a person. 

“Okay,” he mumbled, both to the monster in his arms and to himself. “I guess this is how we’re doing this.”

Michael’s face grazed against his neck as Tim carried him to the bedroom, the end of a sharp nose and soft, dextrous lips tracing an intricate pattern of circles across his skin. Tim suppressed a shiver, the sensation of breath against his neck sending another jolt of arousal between his legs. Thank fuck he’d left his bedroom door ajar. He nudged it open with his foot, then nearly lost his balance as Michael’s wandering mouth caught the skin of his neck between razor-edged teeth. He gave a playful bite, Tim’s knees went weak and he collapsed against the wall. 

“W-what was that for?” he asked, tone caught somewhere between pissed-off and breathlessly-turned-on.

“Don’t know,” Michael cooed. “Just wanted to taste you again, I think.” He slowly unwound himself from around Tim, his feet eventually finding the floor. “Remind me what comes next?”

Tim had to blink a few times to clear his head before he extended one hand toward his bed. “That’s where we’re headed,” he said. “Go on.”

“Okay.” Michael slunk over to the bed and crawled up onto the mattress. He kneaded the duvet under his hands, seemingly perplexed by the softness of it, before he settled down and shifted to tuck his legs underneath himself.

Tim caught him by the ankle before he did. “I’d appreciate it if you took the shoes off before putting your feet all over my duvet.”

“Really?” Michael turned back to him with a coy grin. “I thought taking my clothes off came later.”

“Shoes go by different rules. There’s nothing sexy about them. Well, maybe for some people, but not for me.”

Michael huffed and rolled onto one hip to extend his legs off the side of the bed. He pointed one toe at Tim and looked at him expectantly. 

Tim raised an eyebrow at him. “Are you serious?”

“ _You_ said you wanted to take things off of me,” Michael countered.

“Fine,” Tim sighed. “I really hope you’re wearing socks under these.” He didn’t miss the smug smile on Michael’s face when he popped one shoe off, then the other, revealing a pair of mismatched socks with tacky, swirling patterns in colors too bright  _ not _ to be ugly.  _ Predictable _ , he thought to himself. _ Kind of cute, though. _

He knelt onto the bed, and Michael wasted no time getting close to him again. Tim let himself be pulled into another kiss, Michael’s teeth pulling insistently at his lips, tongue rolling across and around Tim’s until his senses were thrown out of whack. He put a hand to Michael’s chest to push him back, and Michael whined, but complied. “I’m gonna try a couple of new things on you, okay?”

“Okay.” 

“If you want me to stop or do anything different, just tell me.”

The Distortion nodded, and Tim leaned in to press a heated kiss to the side of his throat. Michael sighed, tilting his head back, exposing more skin which Tim was quick to explore. He felt Michael’s legs shift against his own, like he was trying to crawl back into his lap. With one quick, practiced movement, Tim pressed a hand to the small of Michael’s back and mounted him onto his thigh. Michael squeaked in surprise, but didn’t pull away, and a moment later Tim felt the pinch of long, sharp fingers digging at his back. Michael started shifting his hips against Tim’s thigh as if by instinct, heat and friction building up as denim dragged against something-that-wasn’t-quite-denim. Under his lips, Tim felt something crack as Michael’s head fell back at an angle that would have broken anyone else’s spine. He took it as a good sign and sank his teeth into the monster’s pink-flushed neck.

Michael shuddered and let out a small whine. The fingers at Tim’s back clenched tighter, ripping fabric and piercing skin. “M-more,” he whimpered.

“If you insist,” Tim purred against his neck. He let his arms slip away from Michael, and when he drew back, he caught, for just a second, the Distortion quickly pulling itself back into a human-adjacent shape. It made him pause for a second, wondering exactly  _ what the fuck _ Michael’s body had been doing while he’d been focusing on his neck, then shook it off and decided just to be glad he’d kept his eyes closed. His hands went to the hem of his shirt to pull it over his head. The back already had more holes in it than a cheese grater, so he may as well get that out of the way before Michael destroyed it further. 

The second the fabric hit the floor, Tim felt the subtle burn of Michael’s eyes on him. He heard the monster let out a thrilled little breath, and Tim couldn’t help feeling flattered, seeing the wanting expression on his face. “Tim...”

“Yes?”

“Can...can you... hold still? I want to–”

He couldn’t get the rest out before he dove forward, putting his lips to Tim’s warm olive skin. Tim tensed, thinking for a second that he’d just fucked up and allowed a monster to bite his guts out, but relaxed when he felt the wetness of Michael’s tongue coming out to play. He traced his mouth over the lines of Tim’s body, traveling down the shallow crease of his abs to the crest of his hip, then back up again to his collarbone. Tim felt the nip of teeth at his chest, and a breathy groan escaped him as a pair of searching lips clasped onto his left nipple. He let himself revel in the feeling of Michael’s mouth for a while before his hands found their way back to the monster’s hips, nudging him closer, then slipping under his jumper. His fingers eased over the waistband of his jeans, traveling upward in search of skin, and finding... Tim had no idea what it was, actually. He paused, hands pressing experimentally against something that hummed, vibrated and didn’t feel entirely _solid_.  


“What exactly is going on under here?” he quietly asked.

At that, Michael’s mouth abruptly left his chest, and he straightened up, colors moving under his skin like a lava lamp before they finally melded back into his pale complexion. “Um... I don’t actually know.”

Tim raised an eyebrow at him, sliding his hands out of Michael’s shirt. “You don’t?”

“No,” Michael mumbled. “Or... I’ve never bothered to find out? I’ve never thought about what my body might look like without clothes on. Never really needed to.” 

“So, are they, like... a part of you?”

Michael shrugged. “That’s how I’ve always seen it.”

“Is there even a way to take them off?”

“I can try.” He slid off of his perch on Tim’s leg, putting some space between them before his form shifted entirely. His jumper peeled off in a single unbroken ribbon, starting at his shoulder and unwinding from his body in one long spiral like the rind falling off a tangerine. He shifted up onto his knees to let his jeans and socks flake off like dry, shedding skin. What was underneath it all made Tim’s eyes ache with effort to make sense of it. It was blurry and indistinct, flickering like static, the pale peach of almost-human-skin layered over and under and between other colors in a bright, dizzying pattern that would not stop moving. It looked  _ almost _ like a human body, but only in the vaguest sense. It was more like someone had tried to make a LaCroix flavor out of the human form, and then dumped out all the cans of it into a mold, froze it and turned it out into the freakish popsicle that was Michael. 

“Christ,” Tim murmured. “That certainly is something.”

“It is,” Michael agreed with a nod.

“Can I, uh... still touch you like this?”

“You’re free to try.”

Tim reached out toward him, and Michael wriggled his way back into Tim’s lap, eager for more attention. He still felt weightless against Tim’s thigh, but there was at least  _ some _ kind of tangible form to him. Tim’s hands weren’t touching  _ skin _ – not anything that felt recognizably like skin, anyway– but Michael’s shape held together when he laid his hand against it. 

A smile tweaked his lips, and he brought one hand to the button of his trousers. “Mind if I finish getting my own clothes off?”

“Oh. Right.” Michael slid back again. “We weren’t supposed to do it like this, were we?”

“There’s no real set rule for that,” Tim calmly replied. “It’s just how I prefer to do it, but if that isn’t the way it works out, it’s no bother.” How  _ could _ he be bothered? He was loving the way Michael watched so intently as he undid his fly, slid out of his jeans and kicked them aside. They hit the floor next to his shirt. 

Michael stared down at the half-hard thing between Tim’s legs, and his entire body lit up fuschia. “Am I supposed to have one of those too?”

“If that’s what feels right,” Tim replied with a shrug. “I suppose now is as good a time as any to ask you again if you’re a top or a bottom.”

The monster tilted his head, like he was fishing around in his memory for what those terms meant. “I’m still not sure.”

“Alright, there’s no rush. Do you want me to keep touching you?”

“ _ Yes. _ ” The word came out in a desirous hiss as Michael oozed back into his arms. Tim laughed and gladly fastened their lips together again. Michael’s body was confusing, but easier to navigate with his eyes closed. His skin sometimes phased out of existence and reshaped as Tim’s hands ran over it, but there  _ was _ a form there. He was cool, feeling almost artificial, but he was confoundingly natural in how he shivered in response to Tim’s wandering touches. Every now and then he made some soft, contented noise into Tim’s mouth, and Tim drank in every sound he made, hands moving lower, sliding over what might have been a hip, into the crease between something like a body and a thigh. He cupped his hand against the space between Michael’s legs. There was a surface there, just as undefined as the rest of him, which didn’t seem to hold a single shape for more than a second at a time. Tim frowned, pulling back from Michael’s lips to ask him if he might be able to put  _ something _ there to work with, when the space shifted and his fingers flexed impulsively against it. Michael’s body suddenly jolted and he cried out, the sound fracturing in the air and drifting apart in shards of noise. There was a gush of something ice-cold against Tim’s palm, and then his hand was suddenly numb and buzzing, like carbonated anesthetic bleeding into his veins. 

He leaned back and looked at Michael, eyebrows raised. “What was  _ that _ ?”

Michael stared back at him, wide-eyed and glowing rose. “I don’t know. It’s never happened before.”

Tim hummed curiously, and once he’d regained feeling in his hand, he nudged his fingertips against Michael again. The monster whimpered and shuddered against him, his sharp fingers clawed into the duvet. He was obviously still sensitive there, and it took all of ten seconds for Tim to realize what was going on. “I think I just made you cum.”

“Oh.” Michael looked calm a moment before his face scrunched in embarrassment. “Oh,  _ fuck _ . That wasn’t supposed to happen yet, was it?”

“Yeah, you were a bit early,” Tim replied. “We’re only about two thirds of the way there. I haven’t even gotten to using this thing yet.” He nodded down at his own cock, which was flushed, traitorously hard and aching for attention. 

“Sorry,” Michael said, though he didn’t quite sound like he meant it. He pulled his fingers out of the ragged holes he’d left in Tim’s duvet. “Can we do it now?”

“That depends on _ you _ . I know how to take care of this myself if you’re worn out already.”

“I don’t want to stop,” Michael said decisively. 

“Alright. Then I’ll ask again. Which end of this do you want to be on?”

“I’m still not sure.”

“Okay, then let’s try...” Tim placed his hand between Michael’s legs again, gently stroking with his fingers. “What does it feel like when I do this? Is there anything it makes you want?”

Michael closed his eyes and hummed, focusing. He pressed himself harder against Tim’s hand. “I... I feel empty.”

“Like you want something inside you?”

His eyes snapped open. “Yes. Yes, that’s exactly it. How did you know?”

Tim shrugged. “I’ve got a good intuition about this stuff. Bottom, then?”

“I think so.”

“Then you’ll need to give me an opening. A hole of some kind, where I can put this.” He took his hand back and wrapped it around his cock, giving it a few slow strokes and feeling his own pulse against his fingers. His stomach satisfactorily tensed in response.

“Like what?” 

“Smooth. I’m fine with you scratching me up, but not  _ there _ . And being slick will help, if you can manage it.” He glanced down and saw the disorganized blur of Michael’s lower body trying to take a shape. “Make it about the same size as mine, but in reverse. And make sure it stops at some point. I don’t want to end up sinking my whole body into you.”

“Okay. I  _ think _ I’ve got it.” One long finger wrapped around Tim’s wrist and guided it between his legs again. “Is this right?”

Visually, things looked exactly the same, but when Tim’s fingers pressed against Michael he felt something cave and sink in. Something had opened up that hadn’t been there before, and Tim carefully slid one finger into the new passageway, only up to the first joint. Michael quivered, letting out a low whine. “Seems like this is  _ perfect _ ,” Tim coyly remarked.

“Good,” Michael squeaked. “Now please,  _ put something in it _ .”

“I will. Hold on.” He pulled back and leaned toward his nightstand, opening a drawer and pulling out a package of condoms. He wasn’t sure if he’d really need one, because Michael probably didn’t have the kind of body that could give or get diseases, but it was still better to be safe. He ripped the foil open with his teeth and slid the latex over his cock. He sat back against the pillows, legs sprawled out in front of him. “Come here.”

Michael didn’t need to be told twice. He crawled up the length of the mattress like some kind of sleep paralysis demon, which didn’t bother Tim nearly as much as it would have if the unsettling movement didn’t end with Michael straddling his hips, his newly opened hole oozing and wet against him. Tim wrapped both hands around Michael’s legs and lifted him, then lowered him slowly, one hand on Michael’s thigh and the other guiding his cock in the right direction. Michael winced as the head of Tim’s cock pressed against him, his fingers tearing into the pillows on either side of Tim’s body. Tim slowed down right away. “You okay?” he asked.

“Yes. It’s just... new.”

“I’ll go slow, alright?”

Michael’s blonde curls bounced along with his decisive nod. Pink light pulsed frantically in his chest as Tim lowered him, little by little, taking almost five full minutes before their hips were flush against each other again. Michael’s body tensed, something like muscle twisting around Tim’s shaft with a weird circular movement that didn’t feel like any human organ that Tim had ever felt. His mouth dropped open and his breath caught in his chest, his body jolting upwards.  _ God _ , he didn’t know  _ what _ that was, but it felt  _ amazing _ .

Michael shifted his hips, getting used to the feeling of Tim and drawing another groan out of the man underneath him. “Ah...now what?” he breathlessly asked.

“That,” Tim choked out, voice strained with pleasure. “Keep going like that.”

“O-Okay,” Michael huffed. His legs tightened around Tim’s sides as he began to roll his body, pulling back and pressing forward again. Eventually, he found a rhythm, and Tim felt his body tighten and release in time with the movements of his hips. Tim started thrusting upwards in response, feeling the tension of an oncoming orgasm drawing steadily tighter inside of him. Michael was panting, though Tim still suspected he didn’t actually need to breathe. He heard the rustle of tearing foam on either side of his head as Michael’s fingers ripped through the pillows and sliced into the mattress.

_ Well, there goes my bed _ , he would have thought if his brain weren’t swimming in static. The intoxicating confusion that he’d felt while kissing Michael was starting to hit him again, pulsing through his brain in waves. His vision lost focus and he rolled his eyes back. His legs were tense and shivering, his hands fizzling and electric where they grasped tight around Michael’s unstable sides, his back warm against the softness of his bed, and in the middle of it all, his cock currently in the grasp of something that wrapped around him and squeezed and twisted,  _ nothing _ like a human body but so,  _ so _ similar it made his head ache to try and understand it. 

He barely registered it when Michael’s back arched downward and his mouth was suddenly crushed against his own, his tongue nudging at his lips and begging for permission. It only felt right to let him in. The bursts of color behind Tim’s eyelids were twice as bright as before. He kissed Michael back with a blind desperation, no longer in touch with the bed underneath him, with the room they were in, barely even with himself. He was losing track of the boundaries between the two of them. He couldn’t tell anymore where he ended and the rest of reality began. Everything was clouded, smearing, spinning and melting together, and in the middle of it, there was Michael and him, halfway fused into some sublime  _ thing _ he didn’t recognize.

_ Too much. _

Tim could barely feel his limbs anymore, and it took all the focus left in his scrambled brain to locate his right arm and put his hand against Michael to push him back. There was a faint crackling sound that seemed to come from the back of his skull, and he felt the kiss break up, Michael rocking back and sitting up. Tim’s eyes opened to a disjointed pattern of color, light and shadow with the vague white noise of rain still pounding against his bedroom windows. Blinking a few times didn’t exactly  _ clear _ his vision, but seeing the room in colorful soft focus was still a step up from not being able to see it at all. 

He arched his back up from the mattress in an effort to sit up. It was a struggle when his body still didn’t quite feel like all its pieces were properly connected, but somehow he managed. Michael slipped backwards, his form smeared and unstable, and nearly fell flat before Tim’s hands caught him. His fingers sliced six fresh gashes into the mattress as Tim pulled him forward, turned him around and rolled him over onto his side. Tim lay still for a second, catching his breath, and saw Michael’s shape once more pulling into something comprehensible. “Okay, new rule,” he huffed. “We can’t do too much at once. I think kissing you  _ and _ fucking you at the same time almost killed me.”

“Does this mean we have to stop now?” Michael asked, sounding disappointed. 

“Not quite,” Tim huffed. He’d pulled back, but hadn’t quite slipped  _ all _ the way out of Michael when they’d changed positions. An unfinished tightness was still drawing up his spine and clenching his stomach. “I just need a minute.”

Michael waited, but Tim could feel his impatience on every single one of his nerves while his brain recomposed itself. The sharp edges of one hand grazed up and down his side, and he felt Michael’s body twitch every few seconds, restlessly waiting for more. Eventually Tim’s mind and body fell back into alignment, and he propped himself up with one knee, lifting Michael’s hips to put him on his back, sitting halfway up against the headboard. He felt Michael’s body twist tighter around his cock as he sank back into him. “Are you alright like this?” he asked.

Michael’s form glitched and he moaned something that was probably supposed to be a “yes,” but the sound came out broken and distorted, dissolving into something Tim could barely understand.

“Mind clearing that up a bit?”

Michael abruptly snapped back into focus. “Yes!” he hissed, frustrated. “Fuck,  _ yes _ , Tim!”

Tim laughed, low and deep in his throat as he started to move his hips again. “Just making sure,” he purred. 

Michael’s relief was palpable. His form blurred, his back flexed, and his hands wrapped right around Tim’s back, knifelike fingers teasing his skin. The feeling made Tim shiver, tangling up with the weird, asymmetrical convulsions of Michael’s body and the straining pleasure that ran bowstring-tight through his core, up his legs and between his hips. 

His senses started going haywire almost immediately, but it was a little easier to stay grounded this time. His head felt full of smoke and the room still spun, but he at least managed to stay in his own body. He moved in a slow, steady pattern at first, then gradually sped up as his pulse quickened. His eyes stayed open this time, watching Michael underneath him, drinking in every one of his reactions. 

Colors swam in front of Tim’s eyes, and he was unsure if it was his own fucked-up perceptions or what Michael actually looked like in that moment. Tim still felt him, but as he rolled his hips and fucked his way gradually deeper, the Distortion’s body seemed to be losing its form and reshaping over and over again. The bright pink glow was the one thing that stayed constant, burning like a beacon in the middle of where his chest should have been. Tim closed his eyes to feel Michael’s heaving ribs, the softness and tension of his misshapen insides, and the thin legs that wrapped tightly around his waist. A strangled moan escaped him, and he felt a jolt of pleasure slide down his spine, prying at him, trying to slip inside–

Hang on, that wasn’t metaphysical. There was actually something trying to get inside him.

In a second, his eyes were open. “Er... M-Michael, what are you–” He lost the rest of the sentence in a raw, breathless cry as it breached the edge of him. 

Briefly, Michael’s face came back into focus. “Hm?”

“Are you trying to...”

“I got curious,” Michael said. “I wanted to know what you felt like too. Should I not?”

“Well... it’s a little...” Before he found the words to describe it, the thing inside him flexed, grazing across his prostate. His arms went weak right away, and he lurched forward as a pleased shudder rattled his body. “Ah...n-never mind,” he choked out. “Don’t stop.”

The thing slid deeper as Michael’s eyes rolled back and the two of them fell right back into fucking. Tim had no idea  _ what _ kind of appendage was inside him at the moment, but  _ fuck him _ , whatever Michael was doing with it felt mind-blowingly good. It writhed against his walls, bringing on the same feeling of cold, buzzing static that danced across his skin and spearing it through his core. His nervous system barely knew what to make of it. He rocked his hips steadily against Michael as it plunged in and pulled back, moving him like an electric current. By all accounts he should have cum already by now, but whatever the  _ fuck _ was happening to his body, it seemed to be drawing out every last sensation longer than should have been possible. He was still rock-hard inside Michael, his blood still burning hot in his veins. Everything about him ached for a release that kept on being ripped out of his reach.

Then Michael’s hands razed down his back, and Tim all but screamed at the clash of pleasure and agony. His vision went white, and he felt the prickle of blood being drawn, fingers like claws piercing into his shoulder. Michael dragged himself upward, despite his body that fluctuated like mercury, and Tim fell against him. Michael’s breath ghosted cool and fast against the fevered flesh of Tim’s neck. He was moaning, or at least Tim thought that he was; the sound he made was raw and shattered, and it didn’t make sense in Tim’s ears, but there was a sweet ring to it that Tim felt more than he heard. Tim kissed the side of Michael’s throat where he should have felt a pulse, then quickly and roughly latched on with his teeth. 

The sharp, stuttering cry that Michael let out broke Tim’s consciousness like glass. The string inside him snapped, and suddenly he was feeling everything at once. He threw his head back, his body arched and his mouth frozen open in a silent scream. His orgasm hit him like a physical wave, crashing down with cold, heavy force and drowning him in a matter of seconds. His body thrashed erratically as he rode it out, Michael clinging to him, fingers pierced through his skin to hold him in place. At the edge of his senses, he heard Michael’s distorted noises of pleasure pitching higher, growing more strained, until finally something inside of him burst and he was filled with the same numbing, carbonated chill that he’d felt against his hand. It spread through him, blooming cold in his stomach and dripping down his legs. 

As he caught his breath, his vision came slowly back into focus, and he looked down at Michael. To his shock, the Distortion, for once, actually looked like a person, and Tim shivered from the effort of holding him up. His hands cradled a thin but solid body, a flush of bright pink seeping through fair, freckled skin. Michael’s head was tipped back into the pillows, a disheveled mass of long blonde curls pooled around his enraptured face, mouth open and breathing out the last whimpers of his climax. His eyes had rolled back until they turned white, and Tim watched as they slowly centered themselves again and fixed on him. He held still for a second longer before he gave in to his exhaustion and collapsed on top of Michael.

Tim might have blacked out for a moment. It was hard to tell what was going on at all. Michael’s skin still felt like static against his own, and it took him a moment to sort out how he’d landed. His head rested on Michael’s shoulder, his nose just brushing the angle of his jaw. He’d gone limp with his arms pinned around the creature under him. Their legs were tangled loosely together, Michael’s in some position that didn’t feel entirely natural, but it lent itself strangely well to fitting the two of them into each other. Whatever part of the Distortion had gone into him had pulled out some time ago, leaving him open and empty and still buzzing inside. And there was a weight on top of him. He blinked, and his fried nerves could just barely discern the shape of hands resting against his back. 

_ Is he... holding me? _

Tim stirred lazily, pressing his forehead against the soft hollow of Michael’s throat. The body underneath him sighed, and his hands adjusted, gently wrapping around Tim to rest against his shoulder blades and spine. Yes, Michael was holding him. He didn’t know _what_ he’d expected to happen after everything was finished, but it certainly hadn’t been _this_.

Strange as it was, Tim couldn’t convince himself that he didn’t like it. Michael’s skin was still warm with Tim’s own body heat, and being so close to him gave reality a soft, satisfying blur, almost the same feeling as being pleasantly stoned. Tim closed his eyes and let himself relax. Distantly, he felt Michael move to nuzzle against the top of his head and press a few fleeting kisses into his hairline. 

Outside, the rain was starting to let up, and Tim was barely aware of how little time had actually passed. He let himself stay melted on top of Michael for a while, breathing softly and letting his body drink in the feeling of him. It took some time for him to become aware of the stickiness that coated his skin, and yet longer to remember that he had never rinsed off the rain that had drenched him on his way home. Now he was also soaked in sweat and whatever other fluids Michael had splattered all over him. He was exhausted, felt high as a kite and could barely convince his body to move, but the last bits of sense he could hold onto sternly informed him that he needed a shower, and badly.

His arm trembled when he propped himself up on it. Michael was lax on the mattress below him, fuzzy around the edges but still very much  _ there _ . He gazed up at Tim from the pillows, a soft smile curving his lips. His eyes still shimmered and changed, but there was something gentle about them now. Colors flickered softly in a slow, regular pattern, still mesmerizing, but no longer maddening like they were before. 

“So,” Tim said, grinning coyly back at him. “Welcome to sex.”

Michael’s smile stretched wider and he giggled, his eyes falling closed again. His voice still rippled in the air, but the bite had been taken out of it, leaving nothing but smooth edges in its place. His hands slid off of Tim’s back to let his arms stretch lazily above his head.

“How was it?” Tim asked, bringing one hand up to gently trace the line of his jaw.

The Distortion didn’t respond, only stirred and hummed contentedly. The drowsy, blissed-out look on his face gave Tim all the answers that he needed.

“That good, hm? I left you speechless?” Michael hummed again, sounding distinctly affirmative this time. “If you don’t mind, I’ve got to clean myself up.”

Michael nodded and made another indistinct noise, which Tim figured was his permission to leave the bed. He eased himself slowly out of Michael, who whined a little at the loss, but still relaxed enough to let him go. The vertigo didn’t hit until he tried to stand. Tim stumbled the second his feet touched the floor and he had to hold onto the edge of his bed to stay upright. Or, more accurately,  _ what was left of _ his bed. Michael’s wandering hands had certainly done a number on it, and he’d need to replace the  _ everything _ after the night he’d had. He made a mental note to take care of it... well, whenever he had the energy for it, he supposed. At the moment, he felt ready to fall down where he stood and sleep for a week.

As he crossed through the doorway, Tim fought his dizziness long enough to throw a lingering glance over his shoulder at the strange creature lying in his bed. An hour earlier, Michael had been seconds away from killing him, and now he was placidly curled up and kneading the shredded remains of Tim’s duvet like a sleepy kitten. The contrast was a little too much for Tim’s brain to comprehend at the moment, so he decided to just let the circumstances exist as they were and staggered onward to the bathroom.

A cold shower didn’t exactly bring him back to his senses, but it was at least enough to make the room stop rotating. Sleep dragged at him through every step of it. He’d already been tired beforehand, and it must have been adrenaline that kept him going all through whatever the hell kind of mind-bending sex had just happened between him and Michael. Bone-deep as the exhaustion was, he was glad he’d managed to stave it off until now. Maybe they hadn’t gone into this on the best of terms, but all things considered, this was a vast improvement over how he’d expected this night to go. 

When Tim returned to the bedroom, a sizable part of him thought Michael would have already left. He wasn’t exactly surprised to find him still there, but looking at him made Tim feel somewhat lost. Michael’s position had changed, his legs stretching out towards the end of the bed, and he rolled over to watch Tim as he made his way into the room and rifled through his dresser for a clean pair of sweatpants to throw on. Whatever had gone out of Michael when he came, he must have absorbed it back into his skin or something, because the cut-up duvet underneath him looked completely clean. 

“You still hanging around for any particular reason?” Tim asked once he had some clothes on.

Michael shrugged. “Don’t feel like leaving yet.”

“Wow.” Tim let out a humorless laugh. “I really wore you out that much?”

“Not entirely,” Michael specified. “I  _ could _ leave. I just don’t want to.”

“Then what’s keeping you here?”

The Distortion held his gaze for a moment, then reached one arm out to him, the end of one over-jointed finger wrapping around his wrist and pulling him closer. Tim let himself be tugged back to bed. He peeled back what remained of the sheets and laid down beside Michael, who immediately burrowed under the covers along with him, wrapped his arms around Tim and nuzzled his face into his shoulder. Tim had never taken Michael to be the cuddly type, but if he’d learned anything in the past hour, it was that his perceptions weren’t always the most accurate things in the world.

He lay still for a while, expecting Michael to eventually get bored and leave, but the creature clinging to him showed no signs of letting go anytime soon. Tim eventually gave in to the warmth brewing in his chest and let himself return the gesture. One arm wound around Michael’s bird-boned shoulders, and his other hand ended up buried in the twisted blonde mass of his hair, combing through curls that seemed to wind around his fingers with a will of their own. He had no idea what any of it meant. Likely nothing; it wasn’t like this was the first time someone had wanted to be held in the afterglow, playing at intimacy before they disappeared from his life completely. The thought that it was happening now stung him in a way it never had before. 

Nothing could be genuine when it came from a creature made of lies, but there was an ache in him that had been festering for quite some time. He’d needed this, and needed it terribly, as much as he wanted to think this had all been an act. Even if it wasn’t real, Tim could still enjoy the moment while it lasted.

Then Michael spoke. “How did you end up walking through my door in the first place?”

Tim’s hand paused in the middle of another pass through his hair. “That’s kind of a long story,” he said numbly.

“I’ve got nowhere to be,” Michael assured him. He inched upward, bringing his face level with Tim’s. “I can listen.”

“You’re sure you want to hear it?”

Michael nodded.

“Okay. The truth is, I’d already been having kind of a shit evening. I was trying to break into an old abandoned theater for an investigation I’ve been working on, but I guess I wasn’t as stealthy as I thought I was, because I almost got caught and had to run away from the fuzz. Then it started raining, and it took me ages to get home, and by the time I got here, I was just  _ so tired _ . The lift was broken, and I had to take the stairs, and when your door showed up I didn’t even look before I walked through. I just... I wasn’t thinking. I had my mind somewhere else at the time.”

“Where was it?”

“Somewhere in the past,” Tim murmured. Grief clotted in his heart. “Dwelling on some really bad things that happened to me a long time ago. I don’t want to get into it.”

Michael didn’t pry any further, and Tim was relieved. Maybe they had a mutual understanding there, a shared not-knowing-too-much. “What were you investigating?” he asked instead.

“Suspicious disappearances.” The words stuck in his throat, and he could barely get them out. He couldn’t seriously be considering  _ opening up _ , not right now, especially not to  _ Michael _ .

“For the Institute?”   


“No.” Tim spat the answer out a little too quickly. He bit his tongue, and tried to sound a little calmer when he went on talking. “This was for me.  _ Just _ for me.” His fingers tensed in Michael’s hair before going limp. “I’m kind of over doing anything for the Institute anymore.”

“Why?”

“Because everything is a fucking mess, that’s why.” Tim couldn’t stop the answers from spilling out. He’d been holding them back for so long, he was drowning in them. He needed to vent to someone, literally  _ anyone _ , and if Michael was willing to listen then he may as well take what he could get. 

“With the Institute?” Michael sounded perplexed. 

“I guess it only makes sense. My job just  _ had  _ to follow along with the way everything else in my life has gone. And I’m trying to sort out. I really am. I've been doing all I can to figure out how the hell I’m supposed to fix it, but the way shit’s turned out, I have to do everything on my own, and it feels like the more I learn, the worse it gets. My stupid job is half the reason that all of this is as much of a disaster as it is, and I can’t even fucking  _ quit _ .”

He waited for another question, but one never came. His angry words seemed to have shut Michael up at last, because now he was staring at Tim. The look on his face didn’t seem like it belonged there, knowing Michael and what he was. That didn’t make it any less real. Tim saw recognition in his eyes. 

“They hurt you,” he murmured.

“Yeah,” Tim bitterly replied. “They did.”

For a second everything was still. He looked away from Michael, unable to take those wide, searching eyes any longer. Maybe this would be enough for him, and he would leave and let Tim finally get some rest. He’d nearly been able to forget the god-awful night he’d had, and now he’d have to fall asleep thinking about it. Not only that, but everything else that surrounded it, replaying in his head the same way it did every single night.

Then he felt Michael’s arms sliding around him. Tim’s limp, tired body was pulled close and nestled tightly against him. Michael tucked Tim’s head under his chin, cradling the back of his neck with one freakishly large hand. 

“You aren’t the only one they’ve hurt,” he whispered. 

Tim could have asked Michael what he meant by that. He knew, in the vaguest sense, that Michael had not always been Michael, and something must have happened to make him the way that he was. He wondered what had gone wrong in Michael’s life and caused him to turn into the monster that was holding him right then. He wondered, but he didn’t ask. He’d made a promise to Michael not to ask too much of him, and he intended to keep it. 

Now wasn’t the time to start picking through details. Tim was exhausted, and the static that filled his head discouraged him from thinking too much about anything. Instead, he closed his eyes and buried his face into the curve of Michael’s neck. Their legs twined together under the covers, and in spite of every shred of rationality Tim still had, he actually felt  _ safe _ . 

Tim had no idea what the night had turned into. Here he was, bruised and exhausted and covered in scratches, being cuddled by the Throat of Delusion and actually finding  _ comfort _ in that. Sure, the feeling was shallow; there was hardly more to the intimacy than the physical contact between them. He had no idea what Michael was referring to or how he was tied to the Institute, and Tim wasn’t in any condition to be giving out details about his own life. But they both knew one thing about each other now, and that was that they both had something to be angry about.

Tim knew it would all be over before he knew it, and he would have to clean up the mess left afterward, but that didn’t have to matter just yet. For now, he could pretend that someone understood him, and that things were okay. For now, that would be enough.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Fun story: "Welcome to sex" was actually what my ex said to me when I lost my virginity to her. So, thanks for inspiring that line, babes. :3
> 
> RIP to Tim's bed. I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I suffered while writing it.


End file.
